


Rome

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: The Back Burner - Works in Progress [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Ancient Rome, Consensual Sex, F/M, Prostitution, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: They called them the Winter and Summer Soldiers, and they fought an endless battle neither ever won, because they were exactly perfectly matched.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is shorter than Witches but there's sex! Not sure why we abandoned it, I'm guessing some of it was the amount of research required and some was not sure what else to do with it.

“You have to attend the opening of the games."

Amanda had heard some version of the phrase a hundred times the last month or so. From every friend she still had, from her relatives, from shop keeps. Even a few of her patients, when there was nothing else to talk about. It only got worse the closer to the opening day, until she finally agreed to attend. An old friend of her late husband, a senator with a kinder disposition than Quintus had ever had, offered her a spot in his box and seemed delighted she accepted the offer.

The colosseum was dusty and crowded, already roaring with the noise of the crowd. Amanda had avoided crowds since becoming a widow, and hadn't particularly enjoyed them before that. One this boisterous and wild was almost enough to send her home in defeat. It was a relief to reach Plinius's box, even more so when the games began and any attention was drawn away from her.

The opening match—as much to warm up the crowd as anything else—was two women gladiators, dressed in appallingly skimpy clothing. It sent a reaction through the crowd, everything from gasps to twitters to howls and hollers. Amanda watched with detached interest, they were both capable fighters, and put on quite the show.

She appreciated the fact that they didn’t seem to be trying to kill each other, though that might just be because the crowd found killing women upsetting. She got the feeling that either of them _could_ , though.

The bout ended with a series of acrobatic moves that had the crowd on its feet. Near as Amanda could tell, the smaller of the women won the bout and they headed back beneath the stands. Food sellers came by in the lull between matches and Amanda found herself penned in with the wives, eating fruit and gossiping about the upcoming fighters.

There was a match later they were particularly excited about. They called them the Winter and Summer Soldiers, and they fought an endless battle neither ever won, because they were exactly perfectly matched. The women around her thought they were delicious. One blond and fair, the other dark and mysterious. Amanda thought it sounded more like theater than sport, but maybe that was the point.

They watched more fights, including a large group that mimicked a famous battle. Amanda applauded when appropriate, smiled at those cheering around her, and all in all wished she'd stayed home. Or perhaps attended the actual theater.

Then it was time for the Soldiers to battle. The whole stadium seemed to hush as they were introduced, and the wives, who had been watching but at least attempting decorum, pressed forward on the rail to get a better view.

It wasn’t hard to tell who was supposed to which. Summer was very blond, so much so she doubted he was Roman. He was brightly dressed, and carried an equally colorful shield. Winter had a mop of dark hair, far longer than the fashion, making him look almost wild. His armor and clothing were dark, and on his left arm his wore a heavy metal gauntlet that covered him from hand to elbow.

Their battle was a thing of beauty. Both of them graceful, powerful. In tune with each other and their own bodies. It was remarkable.

It was both theatre and not. She’d bet anything they wouldn’t kill each other no matter what happened. But they also did seem so well matched it would be a draw in any case. Fighting together, against an opponent, they would be very dangerous. It was a little funny that warriors that good were here instead of out with the Legion.

The fight reached its climax, for want of a better word, with the men's sword at each other's throats. The crowd roared with cries to let them live and sure enough, the signal was given for mercy. The cheer that rose up was deafening as the Soldiers broke apart and bowed to the Emperor and the crowd.

From beside her, one of the women said, “I so want to buy one of them. Maybe both.”

"At the same time?" one of the others asked, to the giggles of the rest of them. Some of them were probably too old to be giggling, but such was the power of men that attractive.

At the risk of sounding naive, Amanda asked, "You can purchase gladiators?”

They turn to look at her, and one asked, “You didn’t know? You’re a widow, you should definitely do it.”

"I hadn't -" She cleared her throat. "Quintus didn't like the games, I've never been before. I don't know all the secrets.”

“You hire them to come sleep with you.”

She felt her face flush. "Have any of you done it?”

Two of them nodded. “Between husbands,” one said.

“After I had a few sons,” the other said. “My husband let me do what I please.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how one arranged it, though she couldn't have said why. Men hadn't appealed to her in a long time, and a one night arrangement with a stranger had never been her way. A moment's madness, perhaps. Idle curiosity. But the menfolk started stirring, making noise about leaving, and the moment passed. Though she did note the sharp stab of disappointment at the missed opportunity.

One of the wives—the one who was on her third husband—came over and whispered, “Slaves are cheaper, citizens are better in bed. Send a messenger you trust with money to the office of his owner or manager. They’ll handle the rest.”

All she could think to do was nod. The other woman smiled kindly and touched her arm, feather-light, before moving away. Swallowing down her embarrassment, Amanda joined the others filing out of the box.

*

During the games, the catacombs were loud and crowded, people coming and going, shouting to each other and clanking their gear around. His team had their own private area, and James made his way back to it as quickly as he could. Steve liked to make conversation with people they passed, but that wasn’t James’s style.

Well. It had been once, but that was a long time ago.

The others were already there, those from the earlier fights cleaned and dressed. Natasha and Sharon were in robes, hair loose, playing a dice game, for all the world two ladies at their leisure.

"Who won?" Nat teased as he passed them.

James went to take off his gear and wash up. “I won,” he deadpanned. “Steve’s dead.”

“I was wondering where he was,” she replied without missing a beat.

“Probably signing autographs.”

In the equipment area, Thor was prepping for his match. They all had gimmicks; his was that he fought with only a large hammer. “How’s the crowd?”

“Rowdy.” He went to the pump for water to dump on himself. “And it is really dusty up there today.”

Thor made a noise of acknowledgement. "Poor visibility. I'll have to be cautious.”

“Nobody wants to die on opening day,” James replied.

"Better to die on the last," he said with a grin, swinging his hammer onto his shoulder as he strolled out of the room. James knew the other man had his secrets and demons. But damn if he didn't take everything life handed him with good humor.

Steve was back by the time James was washed and dressed. He took off the elaborate iron gauntlet he fought in and replaced it with a simpler one of bronze and leather that he wore on his left arm nearly all of of the time. “Meet some fans?” he asked Steve.

"It's hard to say no to the kids," he replied, filling his own bucket of water. "Apparently there's new action figures of us.”

“Good to know our merchandizing empire is chugging along.”

Steve gave him a look before dumping the water over his head. "You all right, man? You seem a little off lately.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I miss the Legion.”

"I - really?" He glanced around the weapon lined room. "I know this isn't exactly high class but. . . at least we know the other guy isn't trying to kill us anymore.”

“Kill or be killed is a simpler fight, though. And we didn’t spend all day in the basement.” 

"Well, granted. But at night we sleep in real beds.”

“I’ll give you that.”

“Maybe you need some company,” Nat commended. They were only sitting a few feet away.

“Don’t start,” James replied. Nat felt many of life’s problems could be solved by getting laid.

"We have a very open minded client tonight," Sharon added, rolling her dice. "There's room for one more.”

“I don’t like making hallway conversation with strangers. Don’t think an orgy is my speed.”

She shrugged and glanced over. "Steve? You free tonight?" Nat snorted, reaching over for her turn with the dice.

He pulled up the bottom of his tunic to show them an enormous purple bruise blooming on his thigh. James had hit him a little too hard. “All I’m doing tonight is soaking in the coldest bath I can find.”

Sharon clucked her tongue. "Bruce just whipped up a new batch of that ointment he's been working on. You should check in with him.”

“I will do that, thank you.” He raised an eyebrow at James. “Baths and dinner? You up for that?”

“That’s acceptable.”

They said their goodbyes to the ladies and headed out. Sometimes they went up and watched the later fights, but Steve was already starting to stiffen up and James was in no mood. They passed Thor on the way out, dusty and smiling after his match.

Bruce, the team apothecary, had a small shop near the arena. He handed over a pot of ointment to Steve, with instructions to come back in the morning and report on how it worked. 

They spent the off season out in the country, in a sprawling villa surrounded by vineyards and olive trees. During the season they were in a domus in Rome. It was nice—far, far nicer than the cramped slum he’d grown up in—but it was still the city. It was crowded and loud, and the only windows faced into the atrium. It did have its own baths, so they didn’t have to face the public baths if they didn’t want to. They had a tendency to get mobbed. 

The bath did feel nice, even if he was less banged up than Steve. It was very nice to have a few minutes of peace and quiet. No crowds, no other fighters. Just the two of them, like it had been in the old days.

“This is nicer than soaking in murky pond full of frogs,” James said.

Steve chuckled a little. "Yeah. I swear sometimes we left dirtier than we started.”

“It’s not a bad gig,” he said after a moment. “Being a Gladiator.”

"I like it," Steve admitted. "More or less. I mean, it'd probably be more relaxing to be a man of leisure in the countryside. But this pays more.”

“If we take that gig hocking olive oil maybe we’ll get to retire as men of leisure sooner.” Companies particularly loved to have the two of them advertise their products. People like contrasts. A manufacturer of olive oil wanted to paint billboards of them fighting over a bottle of said oil. It was cheesy, but the offering price kept going up.

"Tony thinks we'll get a new offer now that the season has started. It'll probably be high enough to sway both our dignities.”

“Everybody has a price.” He dunked his hair under the water. “Though the girls’ side business seems like it more fun than posing with food products.”

"They seem to enjoy it." Steve tipped his head back, sinking lower into the water. "If you were interested you could probably charge a hefty price.”

“So could you, but you think is spoils the fun of the encounter.” Steve was weird about stuff sometimes.

He shrugged. "I don't like feeling like it's an obligation. Doesn't mean I begrudge anyone else doing it. Nat and Sharon damn near double their weekly take with their clients. And like I said, they seem to enjoy themselves.”

“Nat and Sharon don’t have to worry about jealous, murderous husbands.”

"Also a very good point." Steve dunked his hair into the water before asking, "Why don't you try it?”

“At the moment, the jealous murderous husbands.”

He chuckled. "They're not all married. I've met some very nice widows.”

“I will think about it,” he said, mostly so Steve would move on to a new topic.

The look he got indicated Steve saw right through him, but he nodded. "Ready go get some dinner?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

They went to their rooms to change into fresh clothes before meeting downstairs in the dining area. Steve smelled a bit like an herbal shop had exploded on him, but claimed his side felt better. 

“I wouldn’t hope to attract any ladies on this particular evening,” James told him.

"Yeah." He frowned down at his side, sipping wine. "Maybe now that he's narrowing in on the recipe Bruce can add something pleasant smelling."

"There's my two favorite fighters," Tony said, coming into the room. "Except for all my other fighters."

Tony was the head of their collegia and acted as their manager. He'd been a gladiator himself, years ago, before an injury had forced retirement. From the stories James heard from other fighters, the experience made him a better manager than most.

He was also very, very rich—he’d developed armor and weapons so effective in the Colosseum that the Emperor had ordered them made for the entire Roman Legion. So they all lived in luxury, and no one had to overextend themselves to just to make the boss more money.

Taking a seat at the table, he gestured for the servant to bring him a plate. "Great day today. As predicted, the olive oil people sent in a new offer.”

“Olive oil or sex for money,” James said. “Isn’t that a toss up.”

Tony blinked at him. "How did you know?”

“Know what?”

"We got a sex request. Just before I left to come here." The servant set down his food and wine and he paused to take a drink. "Generous offer, too. Not as generous as the olive oil people of course, but it is only for one of you.”

“Steve doesn’t take money,” James replied, going back to his dinner.

"Wasn't for Steve. It was for you.”

He stopped mid chew, and then realized he had to finish, so he could swallow, so he could look over at Tony and ask, “Me?”

"Yep." He started on his own food. "Told the messenger I'd send a reply once I spoke to you. Since I didn't know where you stood on the matter.”

James frowned at his meal. “Watch Natasha be behind this.”

Tony shrugged. "Pretty elaborate prank. Messenger said his mistress was a widow - I recognized the dead husband's name, he was a senator - and she specifically requested you."

He didn’t dare look at Steve. “I don’t know what to make of that.”

"Messenger gave me an address to send a reply. Guess you don't need to decide now." Tony sipped his wine and grinned. "Though it's rude to keep a lady waiting.”

James was not amused by how much the other man seemed to be enjoying this. “Am I supposed to go, like, right now?”

"The request was for tomorrow night, so like I said, you have time to decide.”

He dared a glance at Steve. “I’ll think about it.”

Steve was grinning like the cat that had caught the mouse, but mercifully, didn't say anything. Tony shrugged and poured them all more wine. "Cheers to a new season.”

James chugged the whole glass down.


	2. Chapter 2

It was foolish to think he would agree to come. A fighter like that probably had a line of women eager to sample his services. Rich women, with beauty and power to spare. Amanda had money, but had never sought power. And beauty. . . well, that was well beyond her.

She went about her day, trying to put her foolish disappointment to the side. Hope was a dangerous thing, she'd known that since she was a child. Yet she was still seduced by it, now and then.

She told the kitchen to make extra food, just in case, even though she was pretty certain she’d be eating alone. She felt very silly about having done that, right up until her butler announced that her dinner guest had arrived.

A flare of panic froze her for a moment. She had thought he would send a message confirming his agreement. She thought she would have time to bathe and perfume herself. Something. Now he was just _here_ and she had no time to prepare herself.

"I'll be there in a moment," she managed to say, because the butler was waiting and she needed to say something. When he left she race to her room, where she changed from her simpler wool tunic to a fine silk stola and dark blue palla. There was no time to do her hair, but she dabbed perfume at her pulse and behind her ears and ignored her shaking hands. 

This was a terrible idea.

Still, she forced herself to breathe and to go and meet her guest.

He was pacing in little circles in her atrium. His unfashionably long hair was tied back, and he was wearing a toga that marked him as a full citizen—and it was the bright white sort that generally indicated a whole lot of money. For a moment she thought there might have been a mixup, until he turned and looked at her.

No, that was certainly him, the Winter Soldier. Currently looking about as nervous and uncomfortable as she felt. He was here. In her home.

Twisting her fingers together she managed to say in a steady voice, “Hello."

He cleared his throat. “Hello. You must be Amanda.”

"I am." She paused. "I'm sorry. I don't know your real name.”

He smiled, and it changed his face. “James. My name is James.”

She relaxed a little, shoulders loosening. "It's nice to meet you, James. Thank you for. . . joining me.”

“Usually these sort of things come for Steve. Occasionally both of us, but usually Steve.” He waved a hand. “Summer.”

Her friends had seemed more enamored of him as well. Amanda couldn't help wrinkling her nose a little. "He's not really my sort of man.”

“They do market us as polar opposites.”

And they certainly were, at least in appearance. "You're friends, though, aren't you?”

“All our lives. Most people assume we’re enemies.”

She shook her head. "You fight too well for that. There was give and take, rhythm, intuition. That requires a level of trust.”

“You are very observant.” She got close enough to see that, under the toga, he had a gauntlet of some sort on his left arm. Much simpler than the one he’d had during the fight.

She wanted to ask about it, but bit her tongue. If he wore it, it was for a reason and likely not one he wanted to tell a stranger. He hadn't asked about her scar, why should she poke at his. "I notice things," was all she said.

One of her servants caught her eye from the doorway and she nodded. "I believe dinner is ready, if you'd like to join me?”

“Dinner sounds delicious, thank you.” She gestured for him to follow her and lead him into the dining room.

They sat across from each other and her servants served the food and poured the wine. It was one of her best bottles, sweet and warming.

“You have good taste in wine,” he said. “And I live half the year on a vineyard.”

She smiled. "I don't like most wine. I find it. . . astringent. When I find one I enjoy I tend to buy a lot." Clearing her throat, she added, "I'm glad you like it.”

There was a moment of silence before he said, “I’ve never done this before.”

She tried to hide her surprise and probably failed. Instead, she looked down at her meal a moment. "Neither have I," she said quietly. "Well, I've done-" she made a vague gesture. "But not. . . like this.”

That made him chuckle. “Well, yeah. Me too.”

She smiled. "Yeah." Clearing her throat again, she said, "If you're not comfortable with this, it's all right. We can just eat and go our own ways.”

“Seems rude to eat your food and not put out.” He sounded like he was teasing her.

"It _is_ a very good wine.”

“I just have no idea what the etiquette is. The girls do it, but I wasn’t going to ask and risk the teasing.”

Oh, she hadn't thought this could get more embarrassing. "I, uh, asked around a bit. Women are more than happy to talk with other women. It seems to mostly depend on the individual. Some stay all night. Some leave once the act is over. Some have ongoing arrangements. Others just a visit or two between husbands or when he's off with his own entertainment." She shrugged. "I admit, I was rather hoping you knew what to do.”

“If we keep drinking long enough, maybe we won’t care.”

She'd tried that a few times, with her husband. It had helped. "It's not the worst idea.”

“I suppose we can just. . .do whatever we want. It’s not like anyone is watching.”

"That's true." She offered him a crooked smile. "I won't tell if you won’t."

He grinned back at her. “You have a very pretty smile.”

"Oh." She felt her cheeks heat. It had been a long time since someone had given her a sincere compliment. "Thank you.”

He looked up at the frescos on the walls. “And this is very nice place.” 

"My husband loved beautiful things." It was impossible to keep bitterness out of her tone.

“You don’t make that sound like a good thing.” 

"It was the least of his flaws." This really wasn't a topic conductive to seduction. She reached over to pour herself more wine.

“Are you sad he’s dead?” Something about the way he said that made it sound like he knew the answer.

She sipped her wine. "No. Seeing as how I'm the one that killed him.”

He blinked in surprise. “Well, now.”

She really hadn't meant to talk about this, but maybe it was better. "Quintus was a cruel man. He had a brilliant mask that he wore when out of the house. To his fellow senators he was charming and clever and reasonable. It was different when the doors were closed.”

He studied her, then said quietly, “Your cheek.”

Resisting the urge to touch it, she nodded. "He allowed me certain privileges that not all husbands would. It was enough to balance out the other things he did. He was twice my age, indulged in several vices. I was confident I would outlive him. Then he did this." She gestured at the mark now. "To make me worthless, he said. Maybe he realized I'd been counting on being a young widow and wished to make it impossible for me to remarry. I don't know. But it was blatant enough I felt I could get away with murdering him.”

“Good for you,” he said firmly.

She nodded, jaw tight. "Thank you.”

He held up his leather-covered arm. “A particularly sadistic Germanic officer burned the skin off my arm for the entertainment of his troops.”

Her eyes widened. "Gods. You seem to still have full function?”

“Mostly?” He moved his hand a little. “Wrist motion isn’t great, and my fingers are very stiff. But it’s fine above the elbow. My fighting gauntlet is. . . a marvel of engineering.”

She nodded and folded her hands to prevent herself from reaching out to inspect it closer. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. I know burns are very painful to heal.”

“I’m sorry your husband was a horrible excuse for a human being.”

"Thank you." Pushing her food around her plate, she took a breath and made her last confession. "That's actually part of why I asked you to come here. There is a law that says a widow must marry within two years of her husband's death or she loses her property and a percentage of her funds to the state. Quintus has been dead a little over a year." She folded her hands again. "Our times together were not pleasant. Even if I find a husband who is willing to leave me alone, he will likely require some contact to get an heir. I thought, perhaps, if I had experience with a man I found. . . arousing, it would be help.”

He smiled. “That’s why you summoned me?”

"When I saw you in the arena, I found you very attractive. That hasn't happened in a very long time."

“I would be honored to teach you that sex doesn't suck.”

She laughed a little at the phrasing and nodded, cheeks hot again. "All right.”

“Perhaps a bath after dinner?”

"That sounds lovely.”

He went back to eating, and she couldn’t stop from thinking about the bath. She hadn’t been to a public bath since Quintas sliced up her face. It had been a long time since she’d been naked in the presence of another person. Who would also be naked.

Her cook was one of the best in the town. Other households tried to steal him on a monthly basis. But today, nothing seemed to have any flavor. She ate by rote, because he was, and drank far too much wine. When he had finished, she pushed her plate away as well and stood. "Shall we?" she asked with more confidence than she felt.

He stood himself, smiled and held out his good hand. “Lead the way.”

Pushing aside a wave of nerves, she took his hand. His fingers and palm were rough with calluses. His skin was warm, tanned from fighting in the sun. She was not a small woman, but when his hand curled around hers it made her feel delicate.

She lead him through the back of the villa, out to the bath house. Quintus had spent a small fortune a few years back, adding a heated pool to his cold one. His joints had begun to ache when soaked for too long and she had suggested the heat to ease it. She much preferred the warmth to the cold.

The fires had been stoked while they were eating, and you could see tendrils of steam rising off the water. James grinned in approval, and stopped by the side of the bath to unwind his toga. She turned away, out of instinct as much as anything else. Her hands shook a little as she untied her palla and draped it on a bench. She heard the soft splash of James sliding into the water as she was taking off stola and under tunic.

It took a great deal of strength to turn around and slip into the bath.

He was sitting against the opposite wall, arms braced on the rim, looking like a perfect statue carved from marble. He still wore the gauntlet on his left arm. He watched her as she settled against the wall opposite from him. The hot water warmed her, blending with the heat of the wine to finally relax her.

"I don't mind if you take that off," she offered quietly.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “What’s under it doesn’t exactly go with the image you bought.”

"I bought you. It's part of you." She paused. "I am not a woman who runs from scars.”

She could see him smile just a little, and then he hesitantly reached up and unbuckled it. She got a glimpse of a lot of white gnarled and mottled skin before he stuck it under the water. It was a compromise of sorts, she supposed.

"You said you never did. . . this before," she said. "How long has it been since you did it any other way?”

He looked up at her. “Long enough my friends keep telling me I need to get laid.”

Her mouth quirked. "Is that why you came?”

“I came because no one ever asked for me before.”

"Oh." Sometimes, she really didn't understand other women. For a few moments they were both quiet.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the glimpse of uncertainty she saw when he'd taken the gauntlet off. Whatever the case, Amanda found the confidence to move closer to him, close enough to touch if he stretched his arm out. He seemed to take the invitation, and he reached for her.

His fingers curled around her lower arm, gentle. She could probably yank her arm away if she had to. She didn't, though, and he slowly tugged her closer, until she was next to him, hip to hip.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” he told her.

"Thank you," she said softly. "The feeling is mutual.” 

He reached his hand up slowly to cup her cheek, giving her plenty of time to react. Then, just as slowly, he kissed her. His lips were soft, possibly the softest thing about him. The kiss was gentle, tender. Almost innocent. And it sent heat through her like nothing she'd ever felt.

She leaned into him, pressing a hand over his chest, palm over his heart beat. When she started to respond, he deepened the kiss a fraction at a time, fingers tangling in her hair. Under her fingers she could feel his heart beat faster. He wanted her. She didn’t have to doubt that.

She let her hand wander, sliding it across his chest and up to curl over his shoulder. He cupped the back of her head, tilting her to kiss her deeper. She opened her mouth to him and he slid his tongue against her, explicit and intimate. It made her shudder. 

He didn’t start grabbing and groping like her husband had. He seemed content to simply kiss her for as long as she wanted—though even just the kiss was hotter than anything in her previous experience. And for a few long, dizzying minutes she was content to do nothing but kiss. He got more urgent, making soft sounds into her mouth. It made her feel wanted, sexy. Things she didn't think she had ever been.

Curling her arm around his neck, she shifted, tucking her around arm behind his back. He had scars, rough ridges she could trace her fingers along. The movement drew her closer, pressed her breasts to his chest. He nudged her back a little, just so he could cup one in his palm, thumb scraping gently across her nipple.

It tightened and she moaned, breaking the kiss to suck in air. He was so close, she could see his eyes were blue, smell the scent of his skin. He watched her face as he stroked her breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak. She felt flushed, lightheaded. As if she let him go she might float away.

“You okay?” He whispered.

She nodded, swallowing hard in and effort to find her voice. "Better than okay.”

“Good,” he replied, and his hand slid downward, under the water. His fingers glided over her stomach and around her hip.

She watched him, as much to remind herself who she was with as anything else. His hand felt hotter than the water, leaving a path on her skin. She wasn't sure what to do. Open her legs, offer to go inside. Kiss him, touch him. He seemed to know what she wanted before she did.

When his hand got there, she opened her legs on pure instinct. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to watch him touch her. His fingers were out of her view, but she felt them, the longest sliding gently along her most sensitive spots. He was waiting for an explicit invitation.

In all her years of marriage she never begged Quintus. Not once. No matter what he did. It had enraged him sometimes, but all she had left was her dignity and by the gods she was going to keep it. But for this man - this scarred, cautious man who seemed to only want to give her pleasure - she took a breath and whispered, “Please."

She felt his fingers inside her now, first one and then a second. It didn’t feel like any sort of invasion. It felt like the most natural and right thing in the world, and her body clenched around them like it wanted to hold him there. Then he pressed his thumb against her clit and she gasped out loud.

He smiled at the sound, and kissed her, fingers stroking in and out of her body as his thumb pressed and rubbed. Her body reacted instinctively, rocking with his strokes as if to keep him inside her. Pleasure tightened her belly and she heard herself moan, hands tangling in his hair to hold herself to him. He kissed her again, sucking on her lower lip. All she could do was whimper. She’d never felt anything like this.

When the pleasure finally peaked it was almost gentle, waves rolling through her, making her shudder. It was sweet and intense and seemed to narrow the world to just the two of them. His fingers moved as she shattered, easing her through it, drawing it out, until she'd slumped against him, panting as if she'd run a race.

He wrapped his arm around her, bending his head to kiss her shoulder. Then he rubbed her back and waited for her to calm.

When she could speak again, she kissed his throat and managed a hoarse, "Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome,” he replied.

Blowing out a breath, she lifted her head. "Do you want - we could go inside.”

He smiled. “I think a bed would be very nice.”

His smile was sweet and made him look oddly young. She dropped a light kiss on his mouth and eased away from him, standing to climb out of the bath. He followed her, and as they dried off she couldn’t help but turn to look at him. She’d never really looked at a naked man quite like that.

There was no fat on him, just rippling muscle and corded sinew. He was tanned, arms, legs and chest and she could see the scars she'd felt earlier. He was broad shouldered, but not as big as the soldier he fought in the arena. A man that big would intimidate her. James was just. . . perfectly put together.  
There was one particular part of him that was larger than she'd seen before. She tried not to stare. But if she'd been ten years younger she'd probably be running for the hills.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like me to pose?”

She turned away swiftly. "I'm sorry.”

“Hey, I’m a Gladiator. I’m great at posing.”

"I'm not much of an artist," she said shyly, slipping her stola on and gathering up her other clothes. "But you are much nicer to look at than my husband was.”

He threw on his tunic but didn’t bother with the toga. He came close enough to kiss her. “Thank you.”

"For finding you attractive?”

His face flushed. “A little.”

She smiled and kissed him. "You are very welcome.”

“Now. Where is your bedroom?”

"This way." She took his hand and lead him back to the house. Her servants, mercifully, had made themselves scarce. They passed no one as they made their way to her room and shut the door.

It was the only room she had changed when Quintus died. She was no decorator, and his taste had been exquisite. But she'd wanted a place that was hers, so she'd stripped every sign of his existence from the room and replaced it with art and things of her own choosing.

She stopped at the side of the bed and turned, finding him right behind her. For a moment they just looked at each other, then he reached up with his scarred hand to touch her scarred cheek. “I think you’re gorgeous,” he said again.

Covering his hand with hers, she smiled, studying him. Then she stepped back and tugged her dress off again. He grinned, proving the truth in his words. He crossed his arms, pulling his tunic up over his head. She grinned back, hoping he saw in her the appreciation she could see in him.

He reached for her and she stepped close and then they were kissing again, hot and deep and intimate. His arms wrapped around her, hands flat on her back and there was no space between them, nowhere to hide. She had never wanted a man the way she wanted him. He lifted her, dropping her back on the bed and coming down with her. She could feel his erection pressing against her, and wondered if he ached the way she did.

Her body throbbed at the memory of his fingers inside her. She desperately wanted him within her again. Tangling her hands in his hair, she opened her legs to him. "Please," she whispered again.

She felt him shudder, and he pulled one of her legs up, tucking her leg over his hip. Then he reached between them to guide himself inside her. He went slow, which was nice. She was very wet, so there was no resistance. Just the warm press of his body into hers and the slight, pleasant stretch as he filled her. Her body clenched in pleasure and she couldn't stop the little moan that escaped her when his hips touched hers. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes. Yes.”

He began to move, sliding in and sliding out. It felt better than she even imagined, better than his fingers. There was some spot inside her that he was hitting, making her cry out at the end of every thrust. He kissed her face, messy and distracted. The pleasure building in her was stronger than it had been in the bath, sharper. It seemed to twine through her, tightening her muscles and arching her into him. Her hands clenched in his hair, hard enough it might have hurt, but he showed no sign he noticed.

The pleasure seemed to grow and grow, with no signs of breaking. She found herself saying "Please" again, begging for something she couldn't articulate but needed desperately. He moved harder, faster, his body grazing against her clit. That was it, that with it. She begged him again anyway, just blindly desperate as she kept getting pushed higher. He whispered in her ear, hot explicit words about how she felt, the things he wanted to do with her. It was the sort of things she'd thought would make her shy and embarrassed. But she found it sharply arousing, and wished she knew enough to return the favor.

It distracted her just enough to let go, to let the pleasure consume her. It poured through her, like a flood, washing away any shame or self consciousness she felt. He found her beautiful. He gave her pleasure. She deserved to feel this way. She cried out his name as she rode it out, body rippling and clenching around him.

He murmured something unintelligible, then she felt him go still. He hand clutched her thigh and he pushed so deep inside her he bottomed out, before the shudders passed through him. Amanda held him tightly, arms wrapped around him. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest and in the pulse of his cock inside her. Her body throbbed around him in perfect time. For a moment she understood what the poets meant, about becoming one person.

They were still, breathing together and holding on, for the longest time. When he lifted his head and looked down at her, she could see the same thing in his eyes. Like the world had shifted.

She touched his cheek. "Stay. Stay tonight.”

He nodded, then whispered, “I don’t want any money.”

She blinked rapidly. "Are you sure?”

“I don’t need it. That’s not why I came.”

"All right," she said softly, tracing his cheek bone with her thumb. "No money.”


End file.
